The Hobby
by actuallyconfused
Summary: Sometimes you lose the people around you. Sometimes the people around you aren't who they seem to be, at all.
1. the move

_Hi. I'm just practicing being creative...soo yep. :p_

_Oh. Btw, I can't make titles. So anyways, hi?_

* * *

The Hobby

_1; You never notice how attached you are to the feeling of being accompanied, until that person, even if you never spoke, leaves you in a familiar room - except this time it's empty. The air is thick and suffocating. Tears sting at your eyes and ruin your face. Suddenly, it's hard to breathe. The emptiness goes for your throat, tries to strangle you. The one factor that decides your survival is your own strength._

_Loneliness strikes when you're vulnerable. It gets you at your weakest point, when all your fake faces are gone and you're left raw and exposed._

* * *

The sky is as gray as my mood. I stare out the small window of my tiny apartment while leaning on the couch, cracking my back. The space had always been small, but now it felt even more enclosed, and lonely. The only sounds that echoed throughout the few walls were made by myself. Every action was expected - I caused it. The cracking of my fingers and toes. Simple things, like opening the fridge door.

Now the phone wasn't ringing anymore, which was lucky. The past few weeks had been hell with it rattling nonstop. As more and more people discovered the news, they stopped calling me back, because I wasn't the person they wanted to talk to - it was my father. For a girl my age, I was surprised I didn't have any friends.

Glancing out the cheap glass yet again, I watched the city smog drift a small path to nowhere. How much longer was I going to allow myself to stay here? I never wanted to live in the scummy, downtown part of the city. My dreams were filled with sunshine, blue skies, and long endless fields. Whether or not that was realistic wasn't the problem. I was my own problem. _Be your own solution, not your own problem._ Now where had I heard that before? It was inspiring, at least a little.

Later today, I make a few phone calls. I schedule my leave for next week, and start packing my bags already - I'm in a rush to leave this place filled with now-unpleasant memories. The echo of my father's laugh that I think is real. The shuffling of footsteps down the halls. It's getting hard to tell the difference between memories and reality, living here.

The air in the room is as dense as the smog outside.

* * *

When I step out of the taxi, the freshness knocks me out of my own head. The difference is surreal. Stone pathways lead to every building and more. Most of the structures are in good shape, but show age at the corners. A freshwater stream runs alongside a large farm, which is filled to its capacity with aging crops. I think about touching the water, but decide not to look like an annoying city tourist.

The name honestly drew me to the place, Forget-Me-Not Valley. But the surroundings were the reason for staying. A man in a rush to greet me hobbles over.

"Where are your things?" the friendly man, nearly bursting out of his bright red suit, asks me rhetorically. I want to laugh and be social, but it doesn't happen. I lift my miniscule handbag, a subtle indication to back off. He mumbles something and continues showing me the way to the farmhouse. This far away from town, the land is much cheaper. As all realtors say, it's location, location, location.

We pass friendly "villagers" wherever we turn. I can't remember any of there names, my brain isn't processing. There is a thick patch of overhanging tree branches, and the man, I think his name is Tom, shows me how to part the foliage. "Thanks, Tom." My mouth speaks the words with no meaning. He frowns a little, "You're welcome, Claire. And my name is Thomas." I nod, feeling my cheeks sting with an oncoming flush.

I think for too long, and he walks forward before I can apologize. Being socially awkward wasn't an original trait of mine - but after my father left, it shut me down, and I wasn't strong enough to recover.

The branches scratched at me, the cuts and wounds opening without my recognition. I froze. There was my new home - standing tall, furnished, and strong. It was surrounded by acres of land; dry ready to be plowed dirt, lakes, stones and lumber. Thomas talked to me but my ears heard nothing. The theme music I imagine tunes him out, and I'm surprised. Music is something I haven't listened to in months. I hear the word, "Goodbye." And I repeat it back to Tom. I'm left alone, staring and feeling the texture of the ground with the balls of my feet. When I walk over to the door, keys are sitting in the keyhole, waiting for me to claim them.

The front door opens slowly with a loud creak, and I step inside. It's air conditioned inside, protecting me from the summer heat. My bed is calling to me. Despite the bright lights outside, it is seven o'clock, and back in the city I would be sleeping by now, thanks to the time zone difference.

My dreams are filled with my father - alive, joking, hard-working, loving. As long as I'm asleep, the hole in my heart looks full to me.


	2. the welcome party

_2; I guess everyone needs fulfillment in some way, or else what is there to live for? We are born, growing old until we die. Maybe during that circle of life you make new life. Maybe you don't. When you find yourself alone, staring up at the ceiling, contemplating life, remember this - discover new things as much as you can, break your own limits, and find what you love to do. Realize your true passion._

_Some people have a really hard time, surveying what options life has given them, and choosing the best one. Other people are born with an idea in their head, and as they grow up, really enjoy it from the beginning. Everyone is extremely different._

_If you aren't sure, that's alright. Because you have days ahead of you, hopefully, and even if it's only a little time - use it wisely._

_Find your hobby._

* * *

Today felt warmer than yesterday, but it was probably an exaggeration. I haven't felt this clammy since I was trapped in a work cubicle. My farmhouse feels empty, and I want a farm, but I'm afraid to start. What if I invest in the wrong thing? There is too much pressure for just myself. I go to get dressed in the one other outfit I brought with me, but it smells strongly of the city. _How could Thomas stand me? _I think, becoming embarrassed.

I don't want to wear the flimsy cotton top and shorts, so I sit back down in my pajamas. The natural urge to look around makes me get back up and open all the shelves and chests. The one beside my bed is unlocked and swings open. Inside, I find a pair of neatly folded bright blue overalls with a white shirt underneath. They look my size, and instead of feeling welcome to the valley, I'm scared. Someone knew I was coming to this little, fairly remote village, and happened to be a creep. Creeps usually become serial killers or psychopath stalkers.

My thoughts are becoming construed with all these emotions that are new to me. I never would have been this neurotic about something - I used to be carefree. So, thanks to this village, I was supposed to change all this and become my normal self again...if she was still alive somewhere inside me.

I grab the tacky overalls, with their bright eye-catching colour (something I would normally never wear), and slip off my pajamas. Oddly enough, the overalls do fit. I struggle for awhile, figuring out how the buckles work, but isn't hard like per-calculus, and eventually I'm dressed. These overalls do not have long pant legs - they have shorts, somewhat like a romper. It's baggy and loose-fitting and not bad for the humid heat outside that door.

Walking outside was stepping into an oven. I can't control the temperature this time, though. Walking down the steep hill towards the cove of trees, I decide today I'm going to meet new people. Last night, I had a phone call from Thomas, who invited me to a mixer at the Inn, he had said, "We never mingle with each other in an event like this - everyone already knows everyone! But since you're new, I decided to go through with this idea. You know, it isn't really a mixer, it's more of a 'Welcome Claire to Forget-Me-Not Valley!'"

They almost started the little party at five o'clock, but I had to remind Thomas that I didn't need any time to get ready - I had nothing to 'doll myself up' with. So, here I was on time, wondering if anyone would show up. The noon celebratory 'Welcome Claire!' once-in-a-lifetime event. Yet I feel no excitement. I simply step through the doors with little added pressure, and see what happens.

I count ten people in the room. A little applause starts at my arrival, and my heart swells a little. A long reception desk has been covered with a white tablecloth and is stacked with plates of delicious-looking food. An aroma of roasted chicken, fried yams, and cooked vegetables reaches my nose. Lately, I haven't been all that hungry, but seeing the work and effort done here, somehow makes my stomach rumble.

And then an olive-skinned lady with black hair and bright clothes walks right over to me and greets me, "Hello Claire, my name is Ruby." The way she uses my name with such familiarity, makes me feel at home again - and that feeling has become foreign. I smile, not sure whether I'm forcing it or not, "Nice to meet you, Ruby." Her smile lines on the side of her mouth crease as she talks, "This Inn is where I work, it's been inherited down the family line...for only about a generation or two. Come meet my son, Rock." I nod, even when she isn't looking anymore. Ruby exhales calmly, and suddenly screeches with all her effort, "ROCK!"

She takes a deep breathe in, and glances back at me, "Sorry, he wanted to get ready for the party before he came downstairs..." her stressful look makes me guilty. I'm the reason for this party, whether I want to be or not. "No, I'm sorry. It really is okay if he takes awhile." The words don't sound like me as they roll off my tongue. People have apologizing to me for months, not the other way around.

_I'm so sorry._

Ruby smiles, looks right through my eyes, puts a hand on my shoulder and I jump a little, "I'm glad you're here, now." My muscles begin to relax. It felt like forever since someone else touched me - at least someone who wanted to.

_I brought you a casserole._

The voices in my head are getting quiet. Ruby asks if I want some food, and for once I nod.

_Oh my gosh...I'm so sorry._

_Are you okay?_

I don't want to remember what people said to me on the phone. All I wanted was to rip the phone cord into little pieces.

Ruby has a hand on my back now, walking me towards the reception desk/buffet table. It doesn't feel like she pities me, or worries about my past, her past, or anyone's past. Ruby lives in the present moment - and I aim to be like her someday. She asks, "Some roast chicken?" I nod. "Any vegetables you don't like?" I shake my head and ask for some veggies too. "Mashed potatoes?"

Before I can answer, a loud voice speaks with confidence from behind me, "Yes, please! Can I have that?" He walks past me, the guy who's the source of the voice and hungry stomach. Rock, maybe? He has the same skin tone as his mother, but light hair as bright as the sun - nearly the opposite of Ruby. I wonder what his father looks like. Probably blonde, like my father was.

"Sorry," Rock whips around to face me, "that's mine." I avoid eye contact and shuffle past to take the plate out of Ruby's hands. I grab a fork and say my thanks. When I turn back to leave the buffet table, he is blocking my way. His brown eyes look deep into my terrified ones. That is definitely a trait from Ruby. "Claire?"

I nod, drawing the food close to my chest, protecting it like a wild animal. Rock grins, showing his pearly white perfect teeth. I feel like prey. He sticks out a hand, and I have to rearrange what I'm holding to shake it. "Nice to meet you, I'm Rock. So you're living on the farm?" "M-hm." The effort to talk would be wasted, my voice-box doesn't work right in front of confident people.

"Cool," he flips his hair, "and sometime soon we should hang out." When I simply nod my head again, he takes his leave. Ruby is gone when I look behind my shoulder to the table. I go and sit down on a plastic fold-able chair to the side of the room. After half my plate has been eaten, I look for Ruby again - my safe zone. She is just coming out of the back kitchen, this time chatting with a friendly girl who has her hair cut short. From the opposite side of the room, I catch Rock staring at this girl with watchful eyes.

She isn't as loud as Rock, so I strain my ears to listen, "Thank you, Ruby! I'm excited too, the trip is next week." A hearty chuckle from Ruby, "I can't imagine you, a small town girl, performing in the city! No...I can...I just don't want you to grow up and leave the valley."

Judging by the annoyed expression creeping onto Rock's face, he doesn't want this girl to leave either. I get up off the chair as Ruby and the stranger approach me. "Claire," Ruby announces, gripping the friendly girl's shoulders, "this is Lumina." I say hello and we shake hands, it feels so formal. "Nice to meet you, Claire! Welcome to Forget-Me-Not!" Her grin is perfect and appears genuine, like Ruby, but without any wrinkles on her face. I stare at the details of her face. Lumina has brown eyes, with light taupe-coloured bangs hiding her forehead. The eye make-up is natural and perfected, with rich creme eyeliner and her eyebrows are plucked to a thin line.

I must look like a corpse standing next to her, with my constant sullen expression and dead insides. Her voice tunes out now, and I mumble something that hopefully sounds like a goodbye, and exit through the doors, feeling as if I'm going to faint if I don't get any sleep.


	3. the chicken salad

_3; Change is either small or big. It happens quickly or over a long period of time._

_A type of change is your lifestyle. When you don't feel much, and are suddenly surrounded by feelings - it is hard to transition. You don't remember how things work, yet you act like you do. This makes you weak, and blind all over again._

_You can't do anything to make yourself adjusted instantly. What you can do is go through the ups and downs - and maybe you already have before - and come out of it a survivor._

* * *

I am energized.

The past few days have been all about work. A construction worker, a blacksmith, Mayor Thomas, and Ruby all visited one at a time, gave me advice and helped me construct a bird shed. Now I am working every morning feeding the chickens and collecting any fresh eggs. It took a bit, but my routine has been set, and changes little bit little every week or so with a new addition to the farm.

Also added to the farm house is a kitchen, a larger bed, and a new table. Currently being shipped is a brand new upright clock. I am pleased with the way everything looks, and it feels good to work hard for something. So I keep it up. Almost lunchtime, I make a phone call to Ruby, and she does answer for the Inn reception desk like I thought, "Claire? What a nice surprise!"

"I'm making salad with roasted chicken - and I want you to join me," there is a pause, so I stutter, "if y-you can."

"Well, not many people come in to the Inn, but Claire I'm the only person working," she rejects me softly, but I hear continuation in her voice, "and besides, why are you inviting me to lunch? I really do enjoy your company, but what about making a homemade meal for...well, my son?" She laughs, and I feel my fingers constrict the phone, "He does love food."

I'm nodding, she can't see me, "Alright, I'll think about it. See you later." I hang up before she can say goodbye. My fingers hesitate to touch the numbers. I put the phone down on the kitchen table. I'm too embarrassed to ask Ruby for Rock's phone number. So, instead of eating alone in my house, I pack the salad into a container and stuff it in my handbag, deciding to have a picnic on the beach.

Every time I hesitate to do something, I know it's important I force myself to.

On my way down to the beach for the first time, I pass the Inn and see Rock walking down the same pathway as well. He smiles at me, and I don't want to, but I turn the corners of my mouth up, with great hesitation. "I'm going down to the beach." I say, and he nods, "Same!" We walk side by side, but the conversation is slow - and when I say slow, I mean lethargic.

I have no idea what to say, so I think of Ruby and bring up food, "I made chicken salad." And, in fact, his eyes do light up. They are flashing with thoughts of chicken and greens. "Can I have some?" I think of saying yes, but decide to mess with him a little. "No, I'm sorry...I only made one serving." The fire in his eyes dies almost right away. I reach into my handbag, and pull out the fairly-large plastic container stuffed with food. His pupils widen in shock.

Suddenly, I can't contain my laughter. Rock looks at me suspiciously, and I admit, "I'm kidding - I made enough for two or three people." His bottom lip sticks out at this, and he mumbles, "Don't tease me like that - especially when it comes to food."

"Sorry," I feel awkward and look away, my new-found confidence shot to hell. In the corner of my eye, he is looking at me with a grin. When I look at the cheesy smile on his face, he says, "I do the teasing." We make it to the beach and I'm making small, uncontrollable giggles. He looks pleased with himself. This little feeling budding inside me, that makes me laugh at his attitude, get slightly annoyed with his teasing, and keeps me wanting more - I think it's love.

I have been picked up out of my dull gray life, and suddenly dropped into a sea of emotions. Was this love?

"I love the ocean," Rock's eyes are out in sea as he talks, and soon he is comparing himself to the ocean. "It's vast, and big - like me! Right?" The eyes now have more clarity as they stare into me. Suddenly, I feel ridiculous. I have fallen into this same, repetitive trap that I tried to dismantle when I lived in the city. This was just another boy who cared only for himself, not for me. I was a tool to benefit his ego.

I stumble up, my feet gripping the sand. The words that come out of my mouth are definitely not complimenting, "You have a limited mind. The sea doesn't." Rock looks at me with a gaping mouth - I'm not sure whether he's angry or confused. I don't want to stay and find out. My handbag stays empty as I rush away from Rock, leaving the chicken salad behind, "I gotta go." I don't want to say sorry.

Now my pace is a jog, kicking up sand behind me. He yells at me from the beach, "I'll return the container!" And I screech back, scratching my throat, "Don't bother!"

I am angry. Probably at myself for 'falling head over heels' for Rock, at least for a few minutes, in my weak moment. When I get home, I instantly change into pajamas and lie on my bed, wishing for some sort of non-human distraction, and the phone rings - which is just great. I begrudgingly sit up to croak out, "Hello?" My throat is scratchy and sore. "Claire! It's Lumina - Ruby gave me your number." I sigh, a little too loudly, and I think she hears me. Maybe I should just be friendly with her. Suddenly I'm telling her everything. "I think Rock hates me."

She cries out, "Oh no, what happened? Come over to my place, it's to the left of town...you can't miss it." I am not allowed to reject her offer, she has hung up and her tone was dead serious. Sometimes I wonder if she just puts on a good face, I mean, I really don't know anything about Lumina. But then again, this is how all relationships start out. I pull on a heavy sweater now that the sun is starting to set, and the breeze is cooler. When I step outside my house, I see Rock a few meters away.

There is no sound between - just awkward silence for awhile. I shuffle in my position, playing with the dirt trail I'm standing on. I start to think that maybe I was too harsh, but I do know for sure that I don't love him - that was a ridiculous thought. "Sorry," we blurt out in unison. I feel the shock and embarrassment creep over my body at the same time. Rock laughs to ease the tension, "Can I go first?" I nod, and he takes a step forward, while I stay in place. "Claire - you are...weird." He admits the obvious with some more laughter, but I do still feel a little insulted.

His eyes are staring right into me again, this time gently and cautiously, not expecting a certain answer. Rock speaks louder, "Unique, good weird!" I feel my heart pulse a little. "Anyways, I came to apologize for how I acted, and," he pauses, takes a long slow breathe, "I've never admitted this out loud before - but Claire, I'm an egoist!" His true, raw confidence shocks me as the words echo throughout the valley, and I wonder if anyone can hear us. Just now, the image of him in my mind changes. I like the Rock I'm listening to, now. The smile creeps on my face before I can stop it, and the laughter is a contagious disease.

"What?" he demands, not truly angry. I grin. No words are forming in my head, I'm just trying to stop the laughter.

"You're a unique weird, too." It isn't the real answer to his question, it is more of an independent statement. Rock shuffles through his coat, and takes out a clunky empty box. Quickly, he hands it to me, this time awkwardly. Amazing - the change that can happen throughout the course of one day. He plays with his hair, shifting his gaze to the pond, to the grass, to anything but me, "You would be a really good cook." I blush. I don't want to blush.

I want to be the one to say goodbye, but he says it instead, "Well, anyways, I should go, bye." I count to sixty, leaning against the door. My breathing is loud, now, it's all I hear. That was the most social I have been in awhile - a long while.


	4. the denial

_4; Adjusting. Have you ever had to adjust to a new life - either better or worse than the original? Was it forced onto you, or did you jump into this new life? The root cause of the verb adjusting is change. Without change, what else is there to adjust to?_

* * *

Talking to all these new people is taking a lot of effort that I didn't know I had. Lumina has lots of experience and stored effort ready, though, making her the opposite of myself. She laughs flawlessly, and people turn their heads to listen. It doesn't sound fake like other laughter. It shows a warm soul - whether or not that's the truth, I'm not sure.

I had shown up later to Lumina's home than she had expected. After greetings and minor chitchat, she discovered the problem was no longer present, and that Rock and I were mutual friends. Of course, I had to be introduced to her grandmother and butler (they didn't seem to like me, a girl from a lower class). Now, I sat on a chair in her gigantic dining room, listening to the crackling fire more than Lumina, who was ranting about Rock's attributes.

"He can be such a jerk! He thinks he's this...smooth-talking...tease that you get annoyed with, but that, for some reason, you'd want to forgive and hug at the end of the day!" I blink in response, Lumina takes a breather and as expected, continues, "One time, he made me close my eyes for a kiss, and I found a fish in my face! We were five years old back then, and he was still a bully! Did you know, he has never worked for anything in his life?" I mumble some incoherent words, when I realize it's rhetorical. "One quick wink of his...gorgeous...soulful eyes...and he gets ANYTHING!" Suddenly her voice drops down to barely a whisper.

"Or should I say...any_one_." Lumina looks embarrassed, and I understand she's trying to convince me that Rock likes to mess around. I'm not sure it's true. I think it's necessary to nod, so I do, and she heaves a sigh of relief. "Oh, good - so you'll stay away from him. That's great." It sounds like the only honest thing she's said all night.

Not wanting to lie to her, I don't respond, and instead say, "I got to go."

* * *

Sleep instantly attacks me, and the nightmares begin all over again. Everything true is relived, but then the strange, twisted lie of a dream starts. Every sleep, every night, the dream is different.

I'm standing in a farmhouse, a field, a shallow river. The sun is surrounded by stars. Water splashes at my ankles, and dirt cakes up on my feet. There, I see it now, past my reflection and deeper in the water. When I go to pick it up, the earth moves violently. I lunge for it, ending up on my stomach with water lapping at the end of my nose. It stings, it hurts, I have to get out but with the rope. It's thick, construction-standard. I push myself up my feet, while holding on the rope. I stand, the rope stares back at me.

My feet are burning. I feel like I'm on fire. When I look down, the realization hits - the river isn't water it's acid. I jump up and down, running around and away.

The rope is gone. My feet are gone. What's left is the ceiling of my farmhouse, and it's reassuring me the dream is over. When I sit up, there is a knock on my door and I groan from the pain in my head. "Who is it?" I call out, hesitant and weak.

"Rock." Now my arms, head, and chest ache all at same time as I push myself up out of bed, to the front door. I open it and the relief is non-existent. Now I'm tense, sweaty, nervous. I can't be shut down around Rock anymore, it's no longer an option - we've chatted, made long conversation, and somehow had a one-on-one moment. If I made little noise he would get angry.

His hair is that long, straight blonde that I can't help but stare at. It's not as yellow as my own, Rock is more perfected. Right as I think this, he smiles, showing his teeth to me. "Morning." The Rock from last night has recovered, now he is as intimidating and ever. How can I stay away from him when he comes to me, all friendly like this? I reply with a smoother voice than I thought possible, "Morning. And you're here, why?"

The dumbfounded look on his face, as if he hadn't really thought this through, suggests the impulse to see me. My thoughts are really the things responsible for making me smile. "Let's go to the beach." After yelling out the words in such a commanding way, he hesitates, asks with uncertainty, "Please?"

Lumina flashes into my mind. Her true, raw anger is something I have yet to experience, and I don't want to. But before I can say no I say yes.

* * *

_Short, I know, but I need it for the next chapter! :p_


	5. the piano

_5; That moment of relief you feel sometimes, is it short or long? Was it only momentary before the bad things happened all over again, maybe even worse? Or has it lasted for a long time now, and are you grateful?_

_When something bad happens, yes, it does hit us hard. You can act like nothing bothered you, but the feelings are still there - growing and weakening you. That feeling of security now is useless, because either words are hurting you, or someone else is hurting...someone important. And that's just as bad, if worse._

_Don't be afraid of the darkness within you, where loneliness, despair and self-pity swallows you up. But don't go there either. If you're on a nice, morning walk and you remember something hurtful, scary dark; say a quick hello and pass the darkness by. You are meant to be in the light. Yes, you are._

_Everyone deserves that chance - that privilege._

* * *

I remember every little detail now. Rock swatting my hand thanks to a roaming ant, my face burning throughout the rest of the day, the random egotistical Rock moments that I have learned to make fun of - and when Lumina walked up to us with a big toothy grin on her face and an inner rage that was about to explode. The tension had been too high for Rock, who was so utterly confused and worried he said goodbye to me - and then hugged me! That had just made the situation worse.

As soon as he was gone, past the umbrellas and beach towels, up the slight hill and past the turtle pond - Lumina turned on me. She had yelled basic insults, and then ended her scene with phrases like, "I'm just trying to protect you!" and "Why didn't you listen to me?" If any other sane, non-biased person had witnessed this, they would admit that I was the victim of a bully. That is proof of the amount of anger she had against me.

Lumina didn't just _like _Rock or _love _Rock. I knew there was something more to this girl about that boy. And now that she's hooked me in, I have to go find out. I scramble off the cool, beach sand and start walking to the pond to wash the bits of rock off my bare feet. When I feel dry enough to put my shoes back on, instead of walking home, I head to the mansion. The sun is nearly at the horizon now, so I catch one more quick look before completely abandoning the beach (the site of my crime - no really, Lumina said that).

When I check my watch, it's around seven-thirty. I look at the bar as I pass it, and realize I've never been in there before. Although now isn't the time to start drinking, who knows what will happen to me, alone. Walking up the steps to Lumina's house, I realize how dark it could be when I head home, and goosebumps start to crawl down my legs and across my neck. The water fountain is the only noise, the splashing is comforting - it's left on for constant cycles. I knock on the door with the etched, wooden handle. It takes maybe a minute or two before the butler opens the door, and immediately scrunches up his nose. The blinding lights from inside illuminates the dark forest surrounding the stairs and property.

"Lumina, please," I say sternly, and his lips are a thin line zipping up his words of disgust. There is probably swear words floating around his brain at this very moment. The old man just nods, and closes the door in my face at his leave - as if I'm going to charge in and start plowing land while unsupervised.

It takes a bit, but I walk inside soon, and Lumina greets me at the piano. It's so grand, and beautiful. I realize I haven't played it for months now, after the one at my father's house was sold for rent money. She looks annoyed, frustrated, but I still ask, "Can I play?" The shock that I have any measurable talents knocks her out of the seat. She says, "Go for it."

There it is. Grand, sleek, with the chance for beautiful potential. I love music, and this rut I'm in has been impossible to climb out of without piano keys under my fingers. One note, an A, hums throughout the air. I play a quick, easy major scale to shake off the rust one-handed. Now I'm playing it again, both hands. The room is silent once more until I continue. As I put my foot to the pedal, it creaks, as if it has missed my touch. I'm feeling it - an emotion - a real, true, passionate emotion fueled by my excitement.

Once I finish the entire waltz, the vibration lingers for a few seconds longer, and so does my uncontrollable grin that has sneaked up on me. It tugs at my cheeks and is such a foreign feeling, stretching out my face like that. I look at Lumina, who drops her folded arms, "I didn't know you played." I trace the shape of the keys with my hands, and admit, "I forgot I played, too."

We could spend a whole night playing, practicing, sharing songs and favorite composers - but I stand up, say goodbye and escape. I know I'm running away from happiness, but right now, it's still too much. I feel like someone has just pushed me, dry, into a tank of ice-cold water. The shock of it has made me head the opposite way, but it has still left a lasting effect.

And it's growing, pulsating, thriving - my lust for passion.


	6. the lumina apology

_6; My mind, at times, loses all control. Sometimes I fear that I'll never fall out of this loop. Am I really depressed? I remember people telling me to get help – but how? I'm not even sure anyone can help me. Most of the time, I just wish to lock myself in a dark cupboard and be still with no thoughts._

_And it scares me. It gives me the fear that I'll `never change again back to my old, content self. Now that I think about it, it wasn't that much better, anyways. I had dreams and hopes and wishes. But nothing ever happened. Nothing was ever going to happen. Living in that apartment cost enough already, Dad couldn't afford to give me lessons anymore, and there were no performances in the city. It was unheard of._

_But when I get the chance to hear it resonating through my head – it keeps me going. I can get out the door with music in my head instead of memories, which gives me the opportunity to do anything a regular person would do._

* * *

This time, the knock at my door isn't from whom I expect it to be. I look through the peephole to see Lumina standing there, looking reluctant to have come here. Even I am reluctant to see her here.

But I still open the door, "Hi." She greets me and sighs, probably preparing a speech inside her head, but it doesn't come. "Can I come in? I've got a lot to say." I nod, stepping aside and then closing the door. We walk towards the table, and as we sit the chairs creak. I mumble, "Sorry – these were the only chairs I could find online." Lumina shrugs, taps her fingers on the table and fights to part her lips.

"I'm sorry Claire," she hesitates, brushes her hair back behind her ear, "I apologize for yelling at you and being the control freak that I am about Rock and…well, everything." I know enough about Lumina now that I should continue to be quiet and let her spill. "I should've got to know you better…before I assumed what you were like." I'm not sure I ever want to know what Lumina thought of me.

She clucks her tongue while thinking of words to say, and I decide to butt in, "What's the backstory with Rock and you?"

Lumina laughs dryly, her voice haggard and strange to hear coming from her, "Rock has been a part of my life my whole life. He always used to joke about marriage and everything, and so did I. When we were really little I promised him that I would never let another girl fall in love with him…ever." Her smile and sad eyes are an oxymoron visualized. "And I truly thought we were going to marry. Sometimes I still think that…but," and here is what I'm waiting for, "when I started piano, and the actual competitions, I met a boy in the city."

I understand Rock would have freaked. Lumina finishes, "I don't think Rock and I have ever made up." We sit in silence, taking deep breathes. I get up to microwave cold pasta coated in cheese sauce, and bring it back on a cheap two-dollar plate. "When I go through a lot, alfredo sauce is pretty helpful," my smile is weak, but it is returned, which is enough to make me feel like a good friend.

"Oh, by the way, apology accepted." I watch Lumina delicately eat one mouthful before she can talk again, "I have another little show to perform at with some friends, but Elizabeth has a really bad fever and we're supposed to leave for Mineral Town tomorrow…" My new friend is coming to me with a dilemma – my nerves are intrigued. "We need someone to fill in for her."

The evil grin on my face appears, "I see now…you want me to help you find someone." Lumina goes a bit pale, shakes her head, "No, not at all…what I meant," but I don't let her finish. I laugh, "I'm kidding, I'll probably start packing tonight." Her skin flushes back to its original colour, "Thank you."

After a few more minutes of pointless chatter, she leaves. I get undressed, crawl back into bed and start to think. If Lumina is really and truly going to be my friend – then this is great. I close my eyes and drift to sleep.

The mountains crawl up around me as I hike up to the platform. When I reach it, I throw my rope up before crawling up seconds later myself. The wind whips my hair into my face, stings. There is just a figure up here. They are floating, gently tipping when the wind blows their way.

I can't see their face. The figure is one straight colour – no detail. I call out, hopeless, in longing, "Hello? Is it you?" I look down back at the platform, searching for my rope – it's gone and I've snapped into awareness, back in the morning of the farmhouse. Am I awake? Yes, I'm awake. I can hear the chickens and feel the skin on my face and see the early dawn light through my window.

After the easy routine has been dealt with, I blend together a smoothie from berries, milk, and wild grasses approved in my wildlife handbook. Then I go down to the river outside the farm, with my old city clothes in hand, and thoroughly shake them around in the water. I hang them up to dry in the hot sun on a flat rock and drink my smoothie. People I haven't met yet walk by me, and I greet a few. A guy named Marlin – outrageous hair – walks alongside a petite lady, probably or at least eventually his girlfriend judging by the way they interact, named Celia. They stop to chat for a bit of time, tell me not to meet Flora if I am afraid of caves.

Enough time passes that I get up, gather my clothes and go back home to lay them out on the farmhouse roof. In my small expensive handbag I stuff money, dried fruit from the market, and my cheap cell phone with limited minutes inside before zipping it up. The new "rucksack" I bought, or as I like to call it, my backpack – is used to carry my different shades of overalls, and eventually the dry shorts and crop top. All random little things I see lying around are tossed in wherever there is room, which is pretty much everywhere. I have little belongings.

Using the landline, I phone Lumina, and luckily she answers, "Hello?" In the background, I hear the reverberation from a recently played piece. Looks like someone is practicing. "It's Claire."

"Oh, hey," she then exclaims, "Are you ready to leave? We have a little more than an hour! Maybe less." I take on the reassuring tone, "Yes – I'm packed. But I would like to practice before going on a road trip." "Yeah, sure. Come over."

I continue, many questions for the details, "And I have a couple questions…where exactly are we going? When is the event? How are we getting there? And who else is coming?" On the other end, a long heaving sigh hits my ear.

"There's a church in Mineral Town. It's sort of a piano recital mixed with some fundraising. A bunch of kids, who are mostly terrified of being on stage alone, are going to play a song or two from their books. The group of us volunteered to go up with the kids who don't exactly have anyone there to support them. They all play, they get congratulated and leave – we play a little, easy-peasy." Lumina is tapping on a hard surface, she fidgets as much as she talks, "I think it's the…let me think…Mineral Town Little Tykes Talent Show? I'm sorry, I don't remember the name but something like that. It's tomorrow, so we're staying the night in Mineral Town, and we're taking the train to a close enough station. Maybe a cab mixed with some sight-seeing and cheesy tourism. It'll be great!"

"Okay," I pause, then realize her fault, "but who else is coming?"

She laughs stupidly, "Not Elizabeth…but I think Muffy to help; Romana, yes my grandmother; Dia, she doesn't live around here; and Mary, who practices with me all the time. You'll hopefully like her. She's my best friend."

"Alright, thanks," I hang up and head over to Lumina's house. We meet up with Mary at the beach and eat some grilled corn from Kai's beach stand before heading to the train station to the east of the valley. With a full belly, I drift off into sleep on the train.

* * *

**Hey, so, if you're reading this - could you please review? :) Yep. That would be great. And if you have ANY ideas for the story, feel free to write them in that review! Perhaps a hint on how Claire meets Skye - I'm definitely open to ideas for that. Although I do have a basic plot laid out - ideas are needed, pretty desperately. :P **

**And I'm super lazy with my editing/re-reading - sorryy.**


	7. the few encounters

_7; Spontaneous events intermingled with unexpected feelings you never thought were inside your head – that is what truly frightens me. I prefer to be planned, no surprises, everything peaceful and tranquil. It's why I find social interaction challenging, now that other thoughts are running through my head at the same time. It makes it a bigger struggle; trying to focus on the person in front of you, and not the people who used to be in front of you – but instead haunt you with memory._

_Horror movies are particularly intense – I hate when things, especially creepy things, jump out of "nowhere."_

* * *

The clicking sounds of a train on tracks stop, and a screeching, painful noise erupts into my brain – pierces through all my thoughts. I look out the window to see rain, and lots of it. It slices through the sky and drops down into the train. I glance up to see many holes in the roof where raindrops have cut in. Suddenly, tapping my feet, I feel the squish of soaked shoes and heavy, cold socks which leads me to notice there is water lapping at my knees.

I stand, wade my way through the red water as my foot hits something solid – the source of the blood that has been tainting the water. They have the look of a once strong man weakened by injury. I squint, get a good long stare, and dive under the water.

I'm underwater when I scream. My throat is clenched tight as a hand scratches and tears me apart. I feel pure terror and flail but I'm slow, useless. This man – it's horrible! The hand never releases its iron grip, and it starts to push me away – it's my hand.

I gasp for air, feel around me and everything is dry. Lumina is sitting across from me, she asks, "Are you okay? I can't tell." I shake my head, nod it, I'm not sure either. "I think so." She looks at my hands, and then comments on how badly they're shaking.

And I almost saw his face. The dreams have progressed a lot since my move to the valley. I used to never see a figure at all – just a rope.

I peer outside the side window, while Lumina takes the time to point out, "You didn't sleep for that long – we have maybe ten minutes left." That seems short, so I voice out my thoughts. The brunette nods lethargically, "I know. It's only a half hour ride, and yet I'm still bored." But then a smile creeps on her face, "I am excited to be in Mineral Town though! It's like my second-home. I'm going to move eventually into an apartment with Mary."

My head nods in rhythm with every fifteen or so syllables she speaks. I would rather never move back to the city – I only have reasons not to be there. I come to the realization that once we get to Mineral Town, I might pass my old home, possibly walk by the offices where my father worked, and even right now on this train, looking out the window – I will see our summer cabin where I would have been. This makes my hand, arm and neck itch.

I see the thick forest, the train passes a familiar sign indicating the Tree-Triangle Campground. If you turn and head down the trail, it's a short drive to the campground and a little farther in the forest is Camp Tree-Triangle. When I was really young my father dropped me off at camp for a week or so, where I met my closest friend, Karen. After camp, my father would pick me up and drive us to the summer cabin by the small lake. It rained a lot there, even throughout spring and early summer.

"What do you like about Mineral Town?" I ask, surprised I can remember the conversation – even Lumina looks a bit shocked after my five minute unresponsive state. Her eyes go bright as she thinks about it, "Well, there are so many new experiences you can try there. I'd never had Italian cuisine before I went to Mineral Town. And the community is important, and…" her cheeks begin to glow, as she mutters in a lower tone, "…I want to move away from my gran." Romana is sitting across aisle being as watchful as a hawk. I suppress a little laugh, it really isn't all that bad. Most people move out of the home they grew up in eventually.

"That's not a bad thing," I say, and she regains proper colouring to her face. Then I wait, wonder if I can acknowledge it. "I moved out…away from my father." My throat is tensing up, but I don't let it go too far and I'm proud of myself. Lumina looks confused, about to question me and my pulse quickens, "Are you going to visit him today?"

Now my voice-box, lungs and throat turn to stone. No words want to form so I shake my head, lowering my eyes to my feet and hoping Lumina leaves me alone. I thought people knew but I've refused to speak of it ever, so how would anyone know? It's my fault.

It was my fault for everything.

Lumina seems to understand, flickers her gaze away from me, "Whenever you're ready you can tell me." The rest of the train ride is in silence. I freeze when I see the cabin. It would be a lot harder if it was raining, though, so I focus on that thought instead.

I start to wander with my gaze. Muffy and Romana are chatting away opposite us. Farther away, a group of elderly women are playing card games. Behind one of their heads is a glint of silver. At first, I wonder if the old gals are wearing tiaras, but it moves, shifts, when the ladies are not. "I'm going to go wander." Lumina stares at me with a deadpan expression, "But it's a small train." I shrug, not wanting to waste any effort and leave to head to the 'bathroom.'

Nobody looks at me when I walk by. There is a crash back on the other side of the compartment – everyone is leaning out into the aisle, turning to look, and I do as well. Pieces of glassware scatter around as an attendant asks for calm and quiet from all passengers. Uninterested, I turn back for the silver glint and find an empty seat. In front of me is the doorway to the next compartment, and I swear on my life there was a shine somewhere.

The train starts shaking as it slows down, and I find the lack of impulse to continue searching. When I meet up with Lumina, Muffy, and Romana – there is no way that silver _thing _is ever going to be found.

As we exit the train, finish our short walk along a dusty, dirt path, and turn left into town – Lumina gasps. With near tears in her eyes, she opens her arms and runs into Mineral Town as if the air is hugging her back, rejoicing her return. Romana walks slowly with her walker, Muffy alongside her, and we all make our way to the center city.

There is a large stone area that encircles a gigantic fountain – the heart of Mineral Town. It gives the most popular dining areas an outdoor option next to the fountain. I am exhausted, but I still tread forward. So much has been resurfaced from the bottom of my brain.

And yet, I find myself longing to tell Lumina of my father's death. The last word echoes on an ominous tone. "I don't hate my father or anything – and he doesn't hate me." She looks up from her tea, understanding. We don't share any words, she just nods. "He died." It looks like a wave of tension keeps her hands clenched to the tea cup. We're sitting outside on wrought iron chairs with swirly feet. The splashing from the fountain is comforting. The time drags out.

Lumina looks at me, pondering, and then talks, "My mom and dad died a long time ago." She grins to my surprise, exclaims, "I decided to be happy! If they're watching over me, they should see me take this positively." I feel like a failure. "You know, I had more than five years to get to real happiness. Don't be hard on yourself."

It's strange how she knew my thoughts – like a real best friend, like Karen during summer camp until she grew up to be a self-centered jealous stereotype. And it's interesting in a really great way that she never said sorry to me.

All of this talk of things I never wanted to bring up ever again, it makes me nauseated. I apologize, "I'm sorry, I have to go back to the hotel and relax." I leave everyone to talk and chat and be happy. It's too much for a while, not a long while, maybe until dinner. I'm so awkward I can't look at anyone properly in the face. When I get to the hotel, I stand at the doors, hovering and wondering why I don't want to enter. Maybe I'm fighting myself, and I'm not sure why, but I think I need to walk around – look at the sights of my old home to remember good times. I find myself strolling all the way out of Mineral Town and alongside the highway, with train tracks on my other side, towards Camp Tree-Triangle. The cold, but gentle breeze flows up my back and over my shoulders to ease the tension from the sweltering sun. The highway is radiating heat now, and as the occasional car zooms past I find it to be relieving. A random hawk flies overhead, absorbing the windy experience over top the highway.

I reach the camp, and my heart beats a little strange as I notice people farther down the path; little children jumping up and down at their camp leader with long, brassy hair. Then my heart decides to leap up my throat and I make a strangled noise, "Karen!" I haven't seen her in years, I miss her, she must miss me. But I falter, catch my breath and come to my senses. Karen and I stopped hanging out long before I moved – she doesn't miss me and she never will.

My feet stay rooted to this spot, though, and I stand watch. Karen looks up, raises her eyebrows, then turns around and ushers the kids away from the spot before following them. Suddenly, I feel foreign here, the place where I made my few good memories. I remember down the path, in the big building where everyone sat and ate, there was an old wooden thing that passed for a piano, which is how I first learned to play.

I stare down at my bright romper and muddy espadrilles. Of course, now I get it.

Karen is almost gone, past visibility, and my lips tighten, my eyelids squeeze shut – but nothing keeps the tears from arising. How did we get so far apart?


	8. the recital from hell

_8; Disappointment – you you're feeling it when you want to rip off heads in jealously or jump off a sharp, pointed cliff._

* * *

It is the day of the performances, if that's what you call them. I feel a buzzing heat in the room, and it turns the air humid and thick. Immediately I rip apart the curtains and drag open the hotel window. Then I lie in the window sill for a while, slowing my rapid breathing and preventing myself from getting sick from the heat.

Bodies stir around me, dreaming and wistful; wrapped in sheets. I am awake early; especially early when I'm feeling uncomfortable. I see Muffy shivering on the ground (we ordered a two-bedroom; Lumina and her grandmother share a bed, Mary and Dia in the other), so I close the window again.

I head into the bathroom to brush my hair and teeth, get dressed in jean shorts and a thin top, and tie my hair back before closing the door softly behind me. I pace down the hallway and down the stairs. Every street is a recalled memory; a friendly or unfriendly face an annoying reminder; and then the church, standing before me, floods me with a soothing warmth unlike this summer heat.

Inside, I find empty pews and dust-filled air. Up at the front, on a little platform, is the piano – sleek, black, and glossy. I find myself drawn to its presence, thanks to curiosity, and walk with the utmost care. I take a shaky step up onto the platform and feel slightly bad for the grand organ a few more steps away; ignored and untouched for the morning.

I feel like practicing, playing a waltz, or just a few scales. "Excuse me?" The shock shoots down my body, zapping me into further awareness. I turn over and see a priest emerging from a back room, dressed in all white robes. I mumble, instantly shy, "I'm sorry." The words don't come to me, but in the back of my mind I know what to explain.

His eyebrows furrow, he pouts, thinking of something to ask, I can tell. In the corner of my eye I see a shimmering banner draping from the mid-wall. I see that it reads, 'Little Tykes Piano Fundraiser!' in large black font and smaller, in glitter, '& additional performances.' I point towards it, "I'm a part of that."

"Oh, well feel free to practice," he laughs at his following good-humoured joke that makes me itch in annoyance, "Or whatever you _pianists_ do!" I nod slowly, waiting for him to completely turn back around and leave. His shoulders slump as I judgementally glare.

Finally my shoulders relax and when I take a seat on the bench, it whines under my pressure. I warm up the tendons in my hand with arpeggios, my hands fluttering back and forth; but still, the first note helps cut through the silence for me. After that, I no longer care who hears. It could have been hours, or minutes, but I still sit and I get a feel for the weight of the keys. Not a lot heavier than the piano at Lumina's home, or more truthfully, Romana's mansion.

I think of old recital songs in the past, a Waltz in A minor, and even older one-week practice pieces. They are still in my head, some of them, but the rest have faded away into a blotchy photograph in my mind.

"Claire?" I hear Lumina's voice and immediately my hands shoot away from the piano, as if it has become electrified. When I turn to face her she is already near the stage. "You're practicing?"

I shrug, effortlessly nod, the answer is obvious. She edges over to the bench, shifts her eyes in its direction, "May I?" It takes me a few moments, and then I quickly scoot off the seat to awkwardly stand against the piano, leaning all lanky like my limbs are too far extended.

She bites her lip for a moment, and it's a rare sight – to see Lumina with wracked nerves. Her hands hover above the keys, the muscles in her arms tense up, and she leaves me waiting expectantly. I wonder if that's on purpose, because it's working. I notice she isn't a knuckle-cracking type.

Then she plays, no scales needed, and of course it's a beautiful nocturne by Chopin. My jealously is pitiful, hovering inside me. Her hands lift with ease, the music she makes is stirring all these memories in my head – there he is, sitting with a straight back, touching the glossiest piano in a cramped space, the room glowing grey from the only window. This song – an E flat major nocturne – this was one of his many favourites. It fills me with a glow, if light could touch your skin with its gentle warmth, and every second that passes eats away at my subconscious anger – until I'm smiling like an idiot.

I shake my head, clear those thoughts away, because Lumina is staring at me. At first I think she knows something is wrong, but no, that's not it – she's expecting a reaction. The piece is complete. And it leaves me feeling whole.

So I clap a little, "That was really pretty." She smiles tentatively, says something that makes me laugh a bit, "Good – I thought I'd forgotten that song." Her worried expression and many forehead wrinkles is hilarious, and we both can't contain giggles.

We stay there for a whole hour; playing, practicing, sharing songs and favorite composers.

The event starts later on, and children spill in through the doors with overprotective parents at their side. I plant my butt down in a third aisle alone, and begin to wait. Lumina helps most of the children, but a shy little girl specifically asks for Muffy's aide. I watch as the proud parents decide to video tape their child with her blue ribbons in her hair, and a skip in her step. She is anticipating her solo moment, never even glancing at Muffy for guidance.

When she finishes playing, the girl hops off the bench and bows with her hands straight behind her back – in a pose almost like an ostrich burrowing underground.

Lumina is the MC, and she pronounces in a hype into the microphone, "Terry Andrews with the second study!" And to everyone's surprise, a three-year old boy with brushed back hair and a pale blue dress shirt looks over at me. He outstretches a tiny hand, and I uncomfortably take it in mine, which happens to be twice as long.

The family looks at me with gratitude, and I soon realize everybody in the room is watching us go up. Lumina gives me a cautious smile. The little boy says, "Thanks," with a missing tooth accent, and only I can hear him. I mumble, "You're welcome." He has to practically crawl onto the piano bench, but he is so quick up I can't even think about helping him. I watch as he cracks his knuckles to proudly begin playing from memory.

The audience is silent as he stumbles here and there. At one point, he looks at me curiously, and I 'take a shot in the dark,' "Maybe try A?" His adorable toothy smile sends me reeling. Not many people bother talking to me, especially kids. They usually find me boring.

But the next note turns out to be an A key, and he finishes the song with impeccable ease – almost as if he just wanted me to suggest one idea. A lot of clapping ensues and I guide him back to his relatives. It's probably the last time I'll ever see him, so I congratulate, "That was amazing." And his eyes shine with pride – one of the many keys to success.

I feel giddy now, when I sit back down. It is coming close to my turn – Moonlight Sonata. Lumina is just finishing the piece she played for me this morning. My ears decide to muffle all the sound as I begin to concentrate. Of course the song should go well. I do not remember how it goes, but my hands do. Once I start I will finish with ease, like the boy, or at least I hope I will.

Suddenly, everyone is clapping in unison in what sounds like white noise. I am deafened as I stand in slow motion, then shuffle to the piano. I hesitantly touch everything, but once I am there I close my eyes to breathe, because the source of all problems is myself.

I am confident about this piece, usually. But sitting here in the stands, with eyes watching over me, and after seeing all the sweaty-palmed other performers; I begin to feel nervous myself. My palms are moist and I wipe them down on my clothes constantly. I feel a hot flush when my name is called; anticipation has eaten away all bits of confidence. The noise is killed instantly as I walk alone.

I grab my book, and stride to the piano. Eyes are on me. All the children have had their turn, and now everyone is looking expectantly at me. I can feel frayed nerves and a pent-up immense panic. I set the music down and sit down on the chair with a long creak. There is a yellow light that I find heats up the pressure and nervousness coursing throughout me.

I look up at the music, and suddenly I am terrified. It is high up; I can barely recognize the notes from this angle – but everyone is watching me in this dreadful silence and I have no idea if I can adjust the bench. But my hands start playing and the piano barely makes a sound. The tendons in my hands freeze up – this is all wrong. I don't want to be here, at some mediocre recital where I can't adjust to my preferences.

I need the time to prepare and adjust before performances – I need the full trust in the audience that they will not judge me by appearance or song choice – but I don't have that here. In fact, I know I for sure they are judgmental people.

Walking up to the piano I saw sneering, condescending faces, and cocky players who have a lower talent than me – but still seem levels higher, thanks to the popular song choice and confidence in the crowd!

Now I start to feel angry. What the hell? Why do I have to play on this piece of crap? I have to slam on the keys just for it to make a freaking quiet noise! I play a few notes and stop; the ominous silence creeps into me and it only makes things worse. What if I look stupid to them – taking a deep breath and adjusting the bench and feeling comfortable?

I make it through the whole song, and reach a point where I am so annoyed with myself I feel like screaming through my teeth. The song is horrible compared to the usual. I sound like I've just picked up the piece and tried it for the first time.

I hit the last note, in the mindset that I am at home, and it only makes it worse. I think this is my piano – but it's far from it. No sound comes out. I hit one more time, a bit louder, and it sounds like I've skipped a beat.

The applause is still loud and about 5 to 4.5 seconds long. I remember the time instantly – it is the same applause they give little kids who played songs using one finger at a time. I grimace and try to smile through it, but I'm seething. My face is hot with not just embarrassment, but frustration.

Why am I not appreciated? I didn't even look at the sheet music properly – I had to go from memory. None of these people could (besides Lumina). I screwed up, and I can't stop thinking about it. In fact, I get jealous and annoyed with the last three "pianists", who play "harder" songs even though they stare at the notes the whole time and mess up and don't have to worry about being judged because they are perfect and beautiful and friends with all age groups.

I clench my hands into fists after the last performance. I did enjoy it, and I don't mind it – he's a nice guy; from my old school. And then a lady says, "Group picture with all the people who played tonight!" But her smile doesn't affect me. I could rip off everyone's head here.

We all cluster together in an unorganized fashion and I stand behind a girl two or three years younger than me, and also several feet taller than me – which pisses me off to no end. A younger boy, almost my age, asks me, "You want to stand there?" And points to an empty space.

I shake my head, giving laughter that sounds awkward and flirtatious, but I'm really just shrugging off the insane rage, "Um, no." The pictures are taken and my face remains hidden and I fade off into the shadows, as always. This time I don't even take a cake pop. I don't even speak to my old piano teacher who showed up, or anyone else. I just leave and my presence is forgotten and my piece is forgotten but I don't forget the 4.5 second applause.

* * *

Outside, in the streaming sunlight, you wouldn't even know what happened inside the church. My shoes clap on the pavement as I go to stand underneath a tree. Lumina finishes chatting up an enthusiastic lady, before turning to face me. She smiles, but her eyes portray the pity, "Hey...so, about the performance..." and I put up a hand, so she immediately stops talking. I say, "Don't."

A slow burn from the sun flows across my shoulders as I step out of the shade to retreat. Lumina yells at me, "Everyone makes mistakes!" And it's just loud enough for this strangely-formal event that a few people turn their heads and conversations lower to mumbles. I could punch her. I give her the dirtiest glare I can before rushing away to the sidewalk.

And as if she hadn't been bad enough, Lumina cries out, "We can fix that - together!" My muscles tense up and a cold flash goes down my body; eventually I relax as I come to my senses. This is the kind of person I want to know. I turn around to agree for practice, but of course Lumina is already laughing with someone else as if she hadn't said a thing.

But I smile, because I remember.

* * *

_A/N: Based off a recent piano recital. It is almost what happened to me...oh my gosh. I'm sorry, it just fit into the story...but seriously, grr. :|_

_PLEASE REVIEW! :) They're greatly appreciated!_


	9. the extra mustard

_9; without a true explanation – you are making an assumption, and that, trust me, is never a good thing. Even if you end up being right! You still trusted your own thoughts, and it will become a bad habit._

_Although sometimes, if you assumed the bad thing, and when the outcome arrives, you may be so pleasantly surprised – it could be one of the happiest moments of your life._

* * *

The walk back to the hotel is strangely calming. I tap my fingers along picket fences and occasionally skip down the steeper pavement. I breathe in the scented, city air like this is my long-awaited homecoming, and take a long route through the busier blocks, filled with corner parks and hot dog stands.

I order one with light ketchup and extra mustard; an old favorite. I can remember Karen always offering up the extra quarter whenever I needed it. But today I am alone and there is plenty of sufficient change. The breeze begins to pick up and I go to eat my hot dog in one of the few parks.

"Lots of mustard?"

My breath hitches, but I manage to keep calm enough to reply, "As always." And just as I thought; she is standing before me with straight, lengthy hair like brass, and unfortunately she is not dramatically outlined by the sun for our reunion.

When she takes a seat beside me on the bench, I feel more than uncomfortable. I say, once my bite of hot dog is chewed, "I saw you at the camp, yesterday." And our eyes meet in such a synchronized way that I can't look at Karen anymore. I focus on the grass swaying by my feet; calm and collected.

"I saw you, too," she pauses, "and you didn't say hi."

I frown slightly, "Neither did you." We inhale at similar times, and Karen replies in her exhale, all in one breath, "You're really good."

She catches me off guard, and I ask directly, "What are you talking about?" Because my thoughts will stay collected, no matter what surprises she throws my way. A radiating heat makes me more apparent of the hot dog in my hand, and I take a bite, because you eat when you're calm.

"I don't know much about piano," she laughs through gritted teeth, "but I thought you were great." Just like when we were kids: casual and easy with compliments. And I know I am blushing, and I hope she doesn't look right at me again, "Thanks. It's only my third time performing in front of strangers."

Karen grins, says in excitement with her arms stretching into the sky, "I missed you a lot." Her fingers start dancing with the clouds and I catch myself staring up at the wide and dizzying sky. I nod, "Me too."

She looks ashamed suddenly, her gaze drooping to her knees, and I think she can't look right at me, but she does. Her eyes are blazing with this urge to speak. "I don't just mean when you moved – although, not seeing you, that was pretty bad. But, what I missed was…well, honestly…I missed standing up for you."

There is a lump in my throat, and it gets hard to swallow without feeling out of place. Karen continues, "Instead…I gave up." Her eyes gain this glassy quality and I watch her wipe it away. The air is stuffy all over again.

I don't know what to say, and I feel a bit stupid, but then she yells out louder than I expected, "But you gave up too!"

There is silence; a gentle breeze; shifting grass. I know what I did. I say, "I know." No excuses; I don't think she deserves any excuses. Karen wiggles in her seat before muttering, "I saw you at the recital, and I saw you with all these people who managed to…well, I saw you extremely angry at one point."

I think about asking what gave me away, and Karen shrugs, all nonchalant; then points to my hands, "Rigid tendons. And then you pursed your lips." I try to make my hands and face do the angry motions, and I start laughing.

Karen smiles, a little sad, "My point is – you're trying, with those girls. You aren't shut down, anymore! And maybe you'll try to be my friend, one more time?" She bites down on her lip and I point out, "Looks like you're nervous." And I stop her mid-way between brushing back a strand of hair.

We share a smile and I feel instant relief as we hug awkwardly; I'll always be a bit awkward. When we break apart I ask, "Do you want to come to the Valley? Even if it's just for a few days?"

She mumbles, "Hm…" and then jumps up off the bench in utter shock, "Of course." I tentatively smile, and on the way back to the hotel Karen stops to buy a hot dog; ketchup, no mustard.

At the hotel, Karen and I head to the room to relax. I open the door, and a loud bang makes my skin jump off my body. Rock pops out from behind one of the queen beds, and grins, "Gotcha!"

I catch my breath, and demand, "What are you doing here?" He shrugs, flops down onto the mattress, "I wanted to see you guys play." We look in each others eyes and I blush a little, the gratitude is definitely there, "Oh, well, thanks."

"Anytime," he starts humming a little tune. Karen nudges me in the shoulder, before madly whispering in my ear, "Oh my god – who is that? Your cousin? Oh, please tell me he's your cousin." I suppress some laughter at her attraction for Rock of all people, and argue, "No, and he's not my boyfriend either." Because I knew that was coming next.

For the next few hours, after Rock persuades everyone to take a later train, we sit in the room and eat popcorn and rent scary movies on the TV. All the free programs are dreadfully filled with commercials. Everyone except Karen is a little awed by the television, and I wonder how rural Forget-Me-Not really is.

Rock even scream-laughs when the demons appear, and immediately afterwards, giggles hysterically. Lumina slaps his shoulder constantly, "Stop ruining the atmosphere!" And at times, all of them murmur how realistic the movie is. At the end, some of us go out to the patio and some people have a shower before the ride home. I personally want to shower after the ride.

Karen is snoring on the floor, with a courtesy hotel blanket. It's a cheaper place, not too fancy, not a big deal to have one more guest in a room. I lightly tap her back with my foot, and her snoring flickers and completely fades. That's better.

I want fresh air – real fresh air, where I stand alone and soak in my own thoughts. In the hallway, I hear shouting, and despite what I want, I lean against the corner of the hall I'm in and listen. It's an urge to be nosy, sometimes. I can hear the screams are an equal volume, and one male, one female.

"Why can't you just stay back at home?" she screeches, and I don't dare peek. Even from this distance, I can recognize the voice that used that same tone with me.

The guy yells back, "Because I can't trust you! Maybe if I didn't show up, you would've packed up and got on a train headed somewhere even farther!" Lumina knocks something over, maybe one of the lined-up potted plants, and rages on, "You can't trust me? Well, news flash – I'm none of your business! Why would you care anyways?"

It goes quiet, and I know how Lumina plays him, even if it never works out for her. She tries to get him to be meaningful, and caring, but once she gets angry, she falls into a trap where she continues to be spiteful and frustrated. A trap where she completely forgets about her plans to get him to say something nice. Rock clears his throat, "Look, I just don't want you to leave, okay? Ever."

A few moments of thought from Lumina, before she bitterly replies, "Leave me alone." I can hear her approaching footsteps, and I tear off the wall and lunge myself down that hallway and through that door in seconds.

* * *

The train ride back is just as musty and stuffy as the first time. The only difference this time, is that Karen sits beside me. I admit, I'm giddy with excitement. We play a card game for a bit, until the fake lights start to hurt our eyes. I put down my hand regretfully, "Alright, I think I'm going to sleep."

Lumina nods, but doesn't stop poker with Karen. It's great that they're getting along as well. I think when I fall asleep, the smile never leaves my lips. The stiff atmosphere fades away, melts down off the tracks and I'm standing at the edge of a forest. But I know this has to mean something when I see the sign in the road, indicating Camp Tree-Triangle is near.

I burrow into the woods, deeper, farther than ever before and inhale the strong scents of cedar and pine. I break apart in a clearing full of weeds and spotted with dandelions, all growing around the worn-down but large cabin. I pick apart my surroundings, scraping my nails in the dirt to dig for something.

It's ridiculous, I know this is, and nothing appears around me. There should be an empty bottle of pills, a noose, some other poison – but it looks like even in my dreams, the police have taken away all the suicidal evidence.

I'm about to quit scouring the land when my foot trips over something and I stumble into a large trunk. There is a thick rope, full of stray little hairs, sprawling across the ground. I buckle onto my knees, to get a closer look, and sigh, "Why'd you have to…" and the words bubble up in tears.

Karen is shaking me awake, and Lumina's stern face is right there as well, both of them paranoid. "Are you okay?" I stand up, "I'm going for a little walk," to clear my muddled head and forget that stupid dream.

I go to the end of the train, and notice wind-whipped streaks of silver. I slowly push open the door and look at the mysterious person leaning against the rail, bracing the wind at the back of the train. He smiles temptingly at me, and I flinch, "What are you doing back here?" Maybe I can get him to leave.

I see his knuckles go white and his face flood out of colour. I step a little backwards, wondering if I should ask him if he's okay, when suddenly he is right in front of me, smug and confident again. "I apologize if I startled you, I just needed to be outside." He gestures for me to stand beside him, and I don't see why not.

His eyes flicker around me, and I almost want to tear them right out of his head. But that's beyond inappropriate. "What are _you_ doing here?"

My smile is full of boredom and awkwardness, "Oh, just wanted to see the stars." His gleaming hair, though. It really knocks you off balance, permanently. It looks exactly like liquid silver.

The man shifts even closer, and keeps on laughing at some hidden joke, "You're lying. You haven't even looked up once." I shrug; stare at the ground, and then quickly at the sky, "I don't know what you mean."

He grins, making me blink four times, and waves gently, "I'll see you around." The door slaps shut behind him, and I wonder, "Around where?"

I make it back to Karen and Lumina, who are both leaning against the seats half-asleep. I say, "It's hot in here. You should try going outside," and I stuff my jacket into my luggage.


	10. the outgoing slap

10; _Crippling tendrils of fear that overwhelm and destroy your body from the inside out. It starts with your eyes or your ears - you see something, hear the thing you're dreading - and then it's too late. An instantaneous moment; that's all it takes, for slick sweat and blackened thoughts to toss you into nightmares._

* * *

An overturned hot pot of steaming sun splashes down through the open windows and covers our peeling backs. Karen is unpacking alongside me, tearing through leather handbag after leopard-printed suitcase (those are hers, not mine). I remember stumbling through the door, locking everything, before passing out in utter exhaustion. I'm not a very good traveler.

I zip open my only suitcase, which is a roll-on (I just find it easier). The first thing I see is my jacket, and the corner of a letter sticking out of the open pocket. Immediately, I'm worried. I carefully pull it out and instantly, this worn stationary, with faded yellow edges, causes déjà vu. But I can't place it.

The tip of my tongue holds all the secrets. They're pressing from the corners of my brain, trying to get out. I scream through my teeth in pure frustration, and toss the envelope at Karen, now wide-eyed. I take a long breath, "I found it in my jacket." I don't say anymore.

Karen gently takes it in her exfoliated, polished hands, before coming to this conclusion, "Someone must have slipped it in, then?" I nod. She mutters, mostly to herself, "It can't have just fallen in…"

So, she goes to unfold it and I instinctively launch myself at her. We blink at each other before she drops it into my grasp and scoots upright again. "Sorry. I just know I need to do this," and before I can stop myself, I whip open the folded paper. It's a letter written in neat cursive.

_Oh, Claire. Are you staying strong?_

_Or are you pretending to? You know, you can fool anyone except yourself. A helpful hint: if you do fool yourself – well, that's called insanity._

Am I strong? I try to clench a fist, wipe away ugly thoughts – all to prove it. But who I am proving it to?

Karen shuffles beside me and reads from over my shoulder. Strands of brass glide down my shoulder, brushing down my back. I'm not insane.

"Who wrote this?" Karen demands, snapping the paper away from me, and she steers me back on track. Why should I let these strange words fool me? The important thing is finding out who wrote this personal letter! Karen is suddenly looking into my eyes, and she softens her expression, "I'm going to ask around about this, and see if anyone recognizes it…if that's okay with you. I mean – I could hold my hand over the first line, so it's not so personal."

I've made up my mind. I nod firmly, "No. Just go. Show the whole letter." Because I need to know. And maybe the people here need to see more sides of me. Karen just gives me a tight smile, sympathetically giving me the house to be alone. I feel her pause at the doorway, but her lips stay shut, and the words wither away to silence.

Once the door closes behind her, I slump against the side of my bed. My palms are slick and rosy. I didn't notice my breathing begin to pick up.

* * *

The inn doesn't feel welcoming at all. The cooling sensation once I enter is more of a deep freeze. Ruby keeps grinning, toothy at me, and at first I think Karen hasn't stopped by yet. She doesn't know about the letter, that I have any insecurities. But deeper in my brain, I know that is a stupid thought. "Welcome, Claire." Oh, how unwelcome I feel.

We go into a back room, and right then I'm completely sure of the suffocating, unspoken words. They hover around us, waiting to be thrown at me. There are bowls of patchy bananas and multicolored apples on an island. Some chairs face each other against the far wall. I sit down in a creaking one opposite Ruby, who surprises me. Instead of the cheery, usual Ruby, her face expression is solemn, a bit pained when she tells me, "I met your father, fifteen years ago." I forget everything.

All the words about the letter, the ones I thought she was going to talk to me about, dissipate. The looming gray depression of his death hangs around us. But I'm too nervous, excited, on the edge of my unfamiliar seat for information, "Were you close?" My voice is loud and bouncing off the low ceiling. If anyone knew my father, I'm not just relieved, I'm ecstatic, that it's Ruby. In a way, she's a role model for me.

To keep living in the moment.

She nods, musses with her hair, gives a wisp of a smile, "We were. In fact, Claire, he taught me some piano." Her musical laughter sends goose bumps down my arms. I can picture the blurry movement, hear a Rachmaninoff prelude. "I was horrible," she twiddles her thumbs, drifting down to stare at her feet, "but he never gave up, trying to teach me something...anything."

The door swings open in a burst of energy, a rough hand clasping the door handle, "I need Claire." His cheery smile is deluded, I can see right through Rock. Something's happened, he's not trying hard enough to hide it.

I glance at Ruby, who is pink and unorganized as she tries to regain her happy-act in front of her son. I tentatively smile, "Thanks Ruby. I'll come back later." She has no words, she just nods a few times. Rock is waiting for me to pass through the doorway, when it gently shifts closed behind me.

He accompanies me to the big doors, and then he shifts backward, "Well, Lumina wants to see you. I'm busy, so, see you." I raise my eyebrows at his back, before following him to the steps. Rock is never busy. What an outright, pathetic lie.

I demand, "Talk to me about Lumina." He scratches the back of his neck, heaves a sigh before he twists around to face me – big grin and horribly fake laughter and all. I can't believe he's even trying, with me.

"Why? There's nothing to talk about," he tries shrugging me off but I step right up to him. A burst of confidence to do what's right, to help where I can, keeps me going. The sudden fear in his eyes makes me relent a little, but I still say, "I saw you fighting with Lumina, back at the hotel, and I think I understand what's going on."

Rock slumps against the wall, defeated, when I notice the dark under-eyes for the first time. There's a hoarse quality to his voice when he mumbles, "Damn it, Claire." Does Rock even having a breaking point?

I feel like I should hold his hand, or something, but I'm not sure if it's appropriate. I continue once he seems to be calmer, "You're going to miss her, aren't you? When she leaves to go play in front of expensive audiences, far from here. The little valley." He doesn't know where I'm leading him.

"Yes! Of course I will! I can't handle watching her leave." It's a trap. I raise my hand and give him a (satisfying) slap to the face. The skin is white for only a moment, before it prickles to a angry trace of my hand.

"Of course you can handle it," I straighten my back as much as possible, "so stop trying to keep her from her dreams!" The scratchy scream, as desperate as I've ever yelled at anyone, reverberates throughout the inn. A door cautiously opens, and a wide-eyed Ruby steps out.

If Rock notices, (which I doubt, because he never takes his eyes off mine) he ignores his mother, "What was that for?"

"T…to…shake you into your senses, obviously!" I put my fists on my hips and crinkle my forehead in determination. I'm still breathing heavy – I had no idea I could do that, pull off that outgoing slap. When he looks a little less enraged, I continue before he can, "If you really loved Lumina – you would support her and her dreams – no matter what the cost!"

His eyes well up, he blinks furiously and gives me the most unbearable expression of hopelessness, before sprinting up the stairs and away. Anyone could hear the slam of his bedroom door. I didn't know how weak I was until I try to move, and I collapse against the stairs. My hands are trembling, but I still brush away any loose hairs from my ponytail.

What did I do? That was so wrong. How could I? I hurt him. I really hurt him!

Ruby is by my side, stroking my back, murmuring soothing words, like a gentle balm to a burn. The slush of words comes tumbling, melting through my tears, "He hates me, I don't know why…I did that, Ruby, he's crying, I hurt him, I'm so horrible…" She grabs my hand tightly, keeps me from rocking. Ruby tells me, "Everything will be okay." The low hushing noise eventually quiets me until I'm completely still.

* * *

My feet try to take me to Romana's mansion, but I force myself to stop at the pond. I kneel in the itchy patches of grass and splash fresh water on my face. I don't care that I'm sopping wet, when I trudge back up the hill. Everyone here will read that eerie letter, and know how disturbed I must be. That will be my excuse for my appearance.

But that definitely won't work with Lumina.

I know it's going to be a tough conversation. Admitting to overhearing their heated fight, to screaming at Rock to change for the better, and taking whatever insults she throws my way. Like: "This is none of your business." That one is worrying me the most, it's a constant horse fly that won't stop biting.

I'm disgruntled, worried, and I shouldn't be doing this, but I ring the bell, so when the door opens it's too late to turn back. Lumina appears from across the room, "Hey, you're finally here."

"Yep," I smile, which is a sick, disgusting lie. She leads me inside to the high-ceiling living room. Wait, why did she invite me here? Lumina takes a seat at the grand piano, grinning with some nervous news about to spill, "Let's practice!"

My frown sets off a whole rant, "I mean – you said you have trouble in front of crowds, and you're not used to a grand piano, so, I thought we could practice! And I have this idea…but I'm not going to tell you until this goes well." Her smile is much more real, full of pure intent.

I flop down on the bench beside her, "That night, at the hotel, I overheard you fighting…with Rock." Lumina stares down at the floor, her bangs shielding her face. But I do notice her pale knuckles. "And Rock isn't supporting you and your dreams. And you shouldn't want to be with a guy like that."

She whips up to face me, her eyes are full of flame, but I manage to silence her. "Which is why he's going to change for you," I say, with a little too much pride than expected. She flinches, then drops her head onto the keys. A resonating, alien noise emits from the beast. I mutter, to myself, "Hopefully…"

Apparently Lumina, when silenced, falls over onto the closest piece of furniture. Or on a piano.

"Who says I want to be with Rock, anyway…" I jump at the sound of her voice. She is pouting and beet red. The relief is a gentle wave of nausea, deep in my rib cage. The knot of stress unties itself excruciatingly slow, as if Lumina may suddenly turn on me.

The sickness passes and I start grinning; this was one of the best reactions I could hope for. And then we play a few scales, start to drop the awkward tension. There are two hands on the piano – only one is mine.


End file.
